


Jay One Nine Zeta Seven

by The_Lionheart



Series: One Sword [8]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Ableist Language, Big Brother Rick, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Doofus Rick is Best Rick, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Rick is a rude ass what else is new, Siblings, The thing where the sibling raises the other sibling, canon-typical child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:59:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lionheart/pseuds/The_Lionheart
Summary: in a better world...





	1. Beatriz and Rick

There are so many more Morties than there are Ricks that it seems inconceivable that there would be a Rick anywhere that didn't father a Beth who went on to have two children of her own, but they do exist.

It's 1973 and a black woman his age smiles at him, bumping against him as she passes by, making him drop his bag on the sidewalk. Something red and white flutters out of her purse as she passes by, her shoulder-length hair bouncing with every step.

"Oof, hey, lady, watch it-" he grumbles, kneeling down to pick up his shit. Cheap groceries, mostly. He picks up the thing that fell out of her stuff and frowns a little at it- it's a Bicycle playing card, a 7 of Diamonds, and someone's taken a ballpoint pen and turned the diamonds into little eyes.

"Hey, lady, you dropped your-" Rick starts, glancing around. The woman is gone.

He picks up the card, puzzles it over for a few minutes, before shrugging and pocketing it. He goes home and makes himself a dinner that he forgets to eat while he's working on his portal gun.

He passes through an intersection three minutes earlier, and nearly gets hit by a bicyclist.

"Are you okay?" a blond woman usually asks.

"I am now," he usually replies, giving her a leer.

And usually, Beth is born sixteen months later.

Rick forgets about the card, eventually loses it. It's no longer important; it has done its work here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I'll raise this one right," Mami says, looking down at a skinny little pink thing in her arms with something Rick could mistake for love. "Grateful."

And usually Rick makes a point of visiting with Beth in hand, once or twice a month, sometimes more, but he's a busy man.

And Rick doesn't have anything better to do, does he? Just a portal gun that never works right, just an empty apartment, just a haphazard lab and no funding and no friends and no family. He doesn't feel sorry for himself but he finds a way to come by once a week. He watches this small stranger grow bigger and weirder, and he likes her. She likes holding his long ponytail in both of her stubby little hands and chewing on his dark brown hair, which prompts him to maybe shower a few times a week instead of once or twice when he remembers. She likes the sound of his voice, grabbing gleefully at his face when he talks to her, snuggling into his chest when he sings to her. There's a huge fireworks show for the bicentennial when she's eight months old; he takes her to see it, expecting her to be interested in the fireworks. Instead she's dazzled by his leather jacket and terrified of the booming explosions. He takes her home and makes soothing noises of apology at her, and they watch the rest of the show on the little TV stuck in the corner under drifts of overflowing ashtrays. Mami and Dad are supposed to be home by nine, because that's when Rick meant to bring Bea back. She makes increasingly urgent little noises at him until he feeds her, and then falls asleep on his chest. They come home around six, and seem surprised to see him.

His work on the portal gun stalls. It's not like anybody's waiting on him to finish it, though. He starts taking Bea all day, sometimes all weekend. He gets pretty good at changing diapers and giving her baths in his industrial sink and interpreting which of her little sounds means she's hungry and which sounds mean she wants something she sees and which means that she wants him to pick her up. He asks Mami if he can take her trick or treating.

"What for, you want her to get fat on candy already?" she asks.

 Usually, he can convince her because he's taking Beth, too.

Usually, he dresses them up- Beth as a round-faced daisy, Bea as a fussy little bumblebee.

Usually, Mami and Dad make him keep the candy.

Usually, he's doing something important in space and can't come for her or Beth's second Halloween.

Usually, Mami refuses to let him take her for the third Halloween.

But here and now, Rick doesn't have a convenient reason to get Bea out of the house that night, even though he suspects his parents aren't going to want to stay in. He spends a few days working on his portal gun and strikes gold, feverishly chasing his breakthrough for a few extra days.

Usually, Rick figures this out months ago.

He activates his portal gun and steps into another world, and it's beautiful. He meets the two people who will become his best friends in nine out of ten dimensions, and days become weeks as they adventure their way out of a Federation prison. He gets back home and he stares at his empty, cold garage, at the layer of dust that's accumulated after only seven weeks away.

He did it. He did it. Holy shit, he _did_ it!

He knows he missed Bea's birthday but kids don't remember their first birthday anyway, and he'll be here for Christmas. He's already thinking about taking her to see snow in some other fucked-up dimension.

"Oh, look who decided to show his face," Dad says when he meets him at the door. He doesn't let Rick in. He tells him that Mami's trying to toilet train Bea and that she doesn't want him fucking up the routine.

"Seems a little young to potty train," Rick ventures, and Dad scoffs.

"What the fuck would you know about it?"

It's almost another month before they let Bea go with Rick overnight again. She doesn't make noise at him when she's hungry anymore, waiting until he remembers to feed her and wolfing it down with a silent, wide-eyed desperation. He experiments with giving her snacks every couple of hours to see if she is calmer about eating at mealtimes, then once an hour. She bites her own finger trying to eat every Cheerio in front of her, and she doesn't make a peep even as he coos and smooches the tiny blue-purple tooth mark. He rubs a little circle over it and murmurs a half-remembered rhyme, _sana sana colita de rana_ , and she sniffles at him and looks at him like he's magic.

Maybe he is. After a couple of meals she stops tearing through her food. She toddles to the bathroom; he follows, baffled and somewhat unbelieving that she can go on her own, waiting outside the door for what seems like too long a time for one little kid to do her business. After fifteen minutes he knocks on the door- fuck if he knows if the kid even knows what that means, but he tells her he's coming in before he does, and she's crouching on the bathroom counter, her pants on the ground, her hands covered in soap. He thinks she might not be ready for going to the bathroom on her own, but he puts her pants back on and rinses off her hands.

"That's okay," he tells her, somewhat seriously. "I was- I w-was literally doing the same thing three days ago, so."

Every time he takes her for a weekend she takes a few meals to calm down about being given food. He doesn't know how to feel about this. (He feels _bad_ about this, like he's staring at something obvious and not getting it. He doesn't _like_ it. He doesn't know what to say to his parents. He starts carrying snacks in his pockets, candy and whatever, even if he's just popping in for a short visit, and he gets good at sneaking things to her.)

Squanchy likes her, when he needs to lay low for a couple of months at Rick's place. He's reasonably certain she likes Squanchy- she meows at him and grabs his tail and tries to put it in her mouth the way she does with Rick's ponytail. Squanchy looks at him like he's lost his mind and gently removes it from her grasp.

"Look, I'm gonna guess you don't know squanch-all about kids," the alien guesses, and Rick shrugs. "My sister just had a couple litters. Kids- kids need to be around other kids, man. This one's squanchin' _weird_."

"It r-runs in the family," Rick offers. "Being kind of weird."

"Yeah, I can just bet," Squanchy sighs, plucking her off of his back and putting her in Rick's lap.

She makes grabby hands at Squanchy, frowning intently. "Swan," she says.

"Holy shit, did she just say squanch at me?" Squanchy snorts, pawing at her feet until she giggles.

"That's her first word?" Rick asks, faintly offended. " _That's_ her first word?"

"Haha, yesss, kid knows who her best uncle is," Squanchy crows. "Say it again, Bea, say 'squanch' at me!"

"Swan!" she says again, and he laughs brightly.

(Later, when she's asleep, Squanchy pulls him aside. "Is that really her first word, Rick?"

"Yeah, I've never heard her say anything else," Rick admits, huffing. Squanchy tugs on his whiskers, frowning.

"Seems late for human spawn," he says slowly.

"I dunno," Rick says, and Squanchy shakes his head a little. Rick isn't sure if he should tell his parents or not. He's never heard her say Ma or Mami or Dad or anything, even when they're at home with their parents around. In the end he says nothing.)

In most universes, her first word is some variation of 'squanch.' For once, this universe is aligned with the others.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She's five years old when Mami gives him a narrow-eyed glare.

"We're going to test her. She's not acting _smart_ ," she says, and Rick puts his hands up.

"She's a kid, she's not going to be doing rocket science," he protests.

"You did," Mami replies. Rick frowns as Mami gives him a speculative look. "You're making her dumb on purpose, aren't you? Trying to prove a point? Trying to prove that nobody can be as smart as you are?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he says, and she slaps his knuckles with a spoon. "Jesus, Mami."

"Language," she snaps.

"I'm thirty years old, you can't do that to me anymore," he snaps back.

"Then get out," she replies coldly. "I don't need you around to ruin this one. We didn't ask you to come."

"Fine," he says, seething, and pulls on his jacket and heads for the front door.

Usually, this conversation never happens, and he only finds out about the series of tests a couple of years later.

He stops before he gets to his car and looks at his reddened knuckles, frowning. He's the smartest man in the world. He thinks about Bea, who taught herself to read and can rock happily in the corner for hours, rereading the same little picture books over and over again, and he thinks about how her hands are so ridiculously tiny that he can completely envelop them both in one of his. He thinks about the way she used to touch things, five or six little taps before she picked them up, the way she used to tap the side of her forehead when she couldn't think of a word she wanted, and how she all of a sudden stopped doing those things, clenching her tiny fists in the material of her shirt instead.

He's the stupidest, blindest person in the world. Rick pulls out his portal gun, considers the possibilities.

Rick is pretty sure Birdperson will let him stay in his guest room- well, guest nest- for a couple of weeks. He'll figure something out after that; he's always been pretty okay at improvising.

He's also always been pretty bad at controlling the random impulses he gets sometimes, even though usually, when they're to do with his baby sister, he keeps himself steady. Not this time.

He fires the gun and opens a portal on the ground.

He pokes his head out of an open swirl of green on Bea's bedroom wall.

"Hey, Bea," he says brightly, and she bounces to her feet, mouth open.

"Hey!" she says, and he puts his finger to his lips. She repeats herself at a stage whisper. "Hey! Hey!"

"Hey!" he repeats back at her, and she giggles. "Bea, do you want to go see Mr. Person with me?"

"Uh huh," she whispers, nodding. He holds out a hand and she takes it. This is the only time this happens.

There will be a small handful of Ricks who take her in ten years' time, but the vast majority leave her forever in nine.

Maybe eighty-five percent of the Ricks who have Beas leave her in this house in 1989. They have good reasons. They have the Rebellion.

But this one never loses her, not even for a moment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first time the Council meets, it's just six of them, and they don't know each other well enough to have clever names for one another yet, don't know dimension designations well enough to use those as callsigns.

It is 1982; a big year for work in portals.

Four of them have sisters; Leather Jacket Rick and Butcher Rick do not. Four of them have daughters; Teenager Rick is only seventeen and Ponytail Rick has never heard of any of the women the other Ricks call the mothers of their children. Teenager Rick's sister is six months old; he hasn't seen her since he was kicked out.

"What's your callsign gonna be?" Leather Jacket Rick asks the last Rick.

"Rick," that Rick says flatly. "Just Rick. I'm not wearing my personality like the rest of you losers."

"Oh boy," says the Rick wearing the light blue MR. SOFTEE shirt advertising softserve swirl-cones.

"That's enough out of you, Softee Rick," Leather Jacket Rick says. "Look, man, everybody has to have a callsign, or we'll be fucking around like a bunch of idiots all day trying to figure out who's getting talked to, so-"

"Rick Rick," Rick replies. "The Rickest Rick. I don't know and I cannot bring myself to c-care."

"This is wild," Rick says brightly. He has a hard time calling himself "Ponytail" Rick, but he guesses it makes sense. He gives Softee Rick a smile. "Hey, where'd you get that t-shirt?"

"Bea gave it to me," Softee Rick huffs, tugging at it. "It's literally the last clean shirt I have. Well- it was the last clean shirt four days ago."

"I like it," Rick tells him, and he is rewarded with a small smile. "Where'd you guys find it?"

"Oh, I dunno, Mami said she doesn't know where it came from." Rick feels his smile slipping as the other Rick continues. "I think- I kinda think the kid stole it?"

"You left her with _them_?" Rick asks slowly, and Softee Rick bristles, taking a step back.

"Hey, f-fuck you, they're- they're our parents," he says, and Rick nods slowly.

"Yeah, I know." He pauses, looking around. "Uh, hey, it's been great meeting everybody, b-but uh, the babysitter's gotta g-go to school tomorrow, so-"

He portals out of there; behind his back, he hears the Teenager snort, "Oh my god, what a doofus."

Bea's seven years old and waiting for him with an impressive drawing she made of her and Rick and K. Michael. She wrote their names down under their feet so they can tell which person is which, even though they're all the same height and the Bea person is wearing her big new glasses.

"Wow, this is great," Rick tells her, and she beams at him as he pays K. Michael and lets him go home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He knows he's not the right person for this- not even the best Rick for this- but she's his responsibility, because he, um, literally stole her from their parents. He quits smoking, even though Mami and Dad smoked around her. He can't convince her to take a bath every day or even every other day until he starts showering that often. It's hard to forget to eat when he knows that she's still too scared to tell him when she's hungry. It's hard to drink when he catches himself thinking _what'll she do if I pass out_ _and she can't wake me up_ and thinking _what'll she do if I start choking on my own vomit_ and thinking _what'll happen to her if I just fucking crash right now?_

He teaches her things that he hopes are important. She loves him so much for it that he can forget that he's normally kind of a giant fuckup.

He makes a point of avoiding other Ricks. Even the nicer ones are kind of enormous dicks. (He worries- is he an enormous dick? Is he fucking Bea up by being around her? But he thinks about a small child being around his parents and decides he can't fuck her up worse than they would.)

 The other ones have someone else to do this.

The minute they start to feel out of their depth- a strange and unpleasant experience for every Rick- they remind themselves that there is someone else who can do this when they are too busy or otherwise occupied. They have Beth's mother, they have the Sanchez parents.

They find ways to be busy or preoccupied. They resolve to be more hands-on once the child or children are closer to their level.

Rick doesn't have that luxury. Rick has to deal with a small girl's nightmares by himself. He has to deal with her asking why they don't live with their parents anymore. He has to teach her that her body's probably going to start doing things soon, like getting taller or hairier or lumpier, he has to be the one to tell her that she'll probably be expecting to get her period sooner or later, he has to be the one to find books, read the books, and give them to her so she can read them herself. He has to remember to teach her algebra at a pace she can follow instead of racing past it to calculus and trigonometry the minute she starts to get frustrated. He has to remember to teach her things he's pretty sure she's supposed to know by this age, feeling sure that he'll be revealed as an imposter the moment things go wrong.

She's fourteen when he has the Accident- that's what he calls it, she is too ashamed to call it anything most of the time. It really isn't anyone's fault but the Federation agent who decided to take pot-shots at them from afar in the Rodent Dimension. He actually kind of likes his new glass eye and the barely-noticable scar on his face, even if his new dental implants were extremely obviously modeled for Rodent Dimension natives. He's sorry to lose his ponytail, but he gives her a pair of scissors and an electric razor and tells her to surprise him, despite the fact that she's never so much as trimmed a Barbie's hair before.

He tells her he likes his new haircut. It's a little white lie, and she smiles for the first time in days, even if it's only briefly.

It's a week or two later when he hears crashing noises from her bedroom; he stands in the doorway, shocked, as she throws her computer chair into the wall.

"Sweetheart," he tells her, and she turns to look at him, tears streaming down her face.

"Why don't you just send me back?" she demands, and he doesn't know what she's saying. She points angrily at the window. "Why don't you just send me back to Earth, back to Mom and Dad?"

He blinks, even though it feels uncomfortably weird doing so over the surface of his new eye. "Bea, i-is that what you want?"

"No!" she says quickly, scrunching her face up. "No, I- _no_." He takes a tentative step forward and puts a hand on her shoulder, and she bursts into a fresh volley of tears.

"I'm stupid," she sobs, and he awkwardly pats her back, confounded. "I'm _stupid_ and I messed up and coz of that you got hurt and-"

"Oh, kiddo, hey," Rick says, sighing into the top of her head. "You didn't shoot me, and it's not your fault somebody else did, Bea."

"But-" she starts, and he shushes her.

"Listen, I am the smartest guy in the world, right?" he asks cajolingly, and she sniffles. "So I'd know if you were stupid and I'd know if it was your fault and guess what? I know those things aren't true. You can't take responsibility for things that you didn't do, Bumblebee."

She sniffles loudly into his shirt.

Usually, that night he is told he has to come. He has to be a part of the Rebellion's last stand.

Usually this means he is gone for seven or eight years, not returning to Earth until he finds out that he has two grandchildren.

Usually he leaves her and he leaves Beth and he leaves the people who he would say he loves if he wasn't terrified of that word.

Usually he saves hundreds of lives, and over the next several years saves millions more.

"I can't," he says reproachfully when Rebellion leaders call on him that night, the rebel leader flanked by Squanchy and Birdperson. "G-guys, look, I'll spend the rest of my life building you weapons and tools and- and whatever, but I'm not bringing my little sister into an active warzone, and I'm not leaving her, so-"

"People will die," the leader fumes, and Birdperson puts a hand on their shoulder.

"We understand. You must do what you feel is right, Rick."

"W-will you guys hit me up if you need anything?" Rick asks, and the leader storms off. Squanchy gives him a small, catlike smile.

"You bet your squanchin' ass we will, Sanchez. Take care of the kid until I come back, alright?"

"S-sure," Rick says, disconnecting the transmission.

He eventually finds out that Squanchy and Birdperson die heroes' deaths. That's all anybody can ask for, right? He starts drinking and doesn't know if he can put it down; every time he thinks too hard he starts crying, and when he realizes he's scaring Bea he starts crying harder. He's fucked up. He's fucked everything up. He's killed both of his best friends- his only friends- and now he's fucking up the only thing he has left. He doesn't deserve the goofy teenager who idolizes him. He doesn't deserve to see the concern and fear in her watery eyes.

She puts her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, preventing him from lifting the bottle to his lips.

"Bea, move," he says, too exhausted to move her himself.

"I love you, Rick," she says, muffled.

"Bea, stop-" he starts, and she squeezes tighter.

" _You_ didn't hurt Uncle Squanchy or Uncle Bird," she says gently, and he sags against her, knowing what she's about to say.

"No," he mutters, "I guess I didn't."

"I'm real sad they're dead, too, Rick, but it wasn't _you_ that did that thing or made them die," she tells him, and he wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder with a shuddering sigh.

"I guess you're right," he mutters.

"Listen, I'm the second-smartest person in the world, right?" she asks. "So I'd know if it was your fault."

"How did I get such a smart baby sister," he asks hoarsely.

"Genetics," she replies, and he huffs out something that could be a laugh.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He has no idea what it is she wants to do with her life. He sort of supposes that he could ask her, but she's gone and started taking random classes and studying under random masters here and there, using her relationship with him as currency with most aliens. She's gone for weeks or months at a time once he gives her her own portal gun, although she checks in with him every other day when she's "out of town" like this, even though she _is_ an adult. He worries- is she going to be like him, is she going to apparently miss her only chance at having a happy romantic relationship one day? He asks her once, suffering through their seventeenth viewing of the Jurassic Park movie on VHS because she loves the dinosaurs, and she gives him a contemplative look.

"Rick," she says slowly. "Is there a thing where you don't like the idea of having, uh, relations, with- where you're not- where," she pauses here, looking at the ceiling.

"Sweetie, I'm not gonna judge you," he says seriously. "Look at me, pumpkin, I'm really- I wouldn't, first of all, but second of all I'd have no room. You like boys? You like girls? You like people who are both? You like people who are neither? Look, you can like everybody, like me, right? That's not-"

"I don't like anybody," she says, frowning. He thinks about it.

"Nobody?" he asks finally. "You- okay, nobody human or-"

"Nobody nobody," she mutters, sinking down into the couch a little. "I guess I'm weird or-"

"You're really not any weirder than anybody else," he tells her, then, reconsidering, "I-I mean, okay, you're weird but that's just, you. You're weird. That's not weird."

"Okay," she says, putting her head down on his shoulder. "So I guess you don't gotta worry then, about me not meeting my like, true love or whatever."

"Yeah, I guess I don't," Rick concludes, smooching her hair. She shushes him so they can watch the velociraptors break into the kitchen, _again_. He definitely _doesn't_ sigh.

She's almost twenty-two when a portal opens in their kitchen and four of him step out. He doesn't recognize anybody but the leader.

"H-hey, Leather Jacket Rick," he says tentatively.

"It's Riq IV now, actually," that Rick (Riq?) says shortly.

"Holy shit, bro," Bea says, a pan of brownies dangling dangerously in her oven mitted hands. She sounds _delighted_ ; two of the Ricks are visibly fighting small smiles at the sight of her, one is giving her a completely puzzled little frown, and Leader Rick- Riq IV- is deliberately ignoring her. "So who are Ricks One through Three?"

"No, it's- it's like Eye, Vee," one of the Ricks explains.

"It's a Roman numeral f-four," Rick says, as Riq puts a small handheld communicator that looks an awful lot like the one Rick designed for the Rebellion in his hands.

"It's related to my home dimension's numbering in the infinite index of worlds," Riq says brusquely.

"Oh wow!" Bea says, putting the pan down on the stove. "What's our dimension numbered, then?"

"You guys are J19ζ7," the confused-looking Rick says. "Soooo... who are you supposed to be, some weird clone of our Mom?"

"Ohhhh my God, that's it, back in the portal," one of the other Ricks says.

"Okay, so... how many dimensions are there if we're in the confusing mishmash of letters, numbers, and random Greek characters?" Bea asks in a stage whisper.

"Infinity," Riq says, the first time he actually addresses her directly, and she flinches back slightly.

"Riq, I'm- what's this for?" Rick asks, sighing. "I'm not interested in the Council or being part of... of whatever this all is."

"See, this- this is me telling you you don't have a choice," Riq says pleasantly. "This little- whatever this is, this domestic bullshit, it's nothing, okay? You gotta look at the big picture. You're endangering people by sitting around in fucking- what is this, Nevada?"

"California," Bea says quietly, her gaze intense.

"You're endangering her by sitting out in the open like this," Riq says, gesturing at Bea.

"The Federation doesn't know about her," Rick says, and Riq smiles nastily.

"I wasn't talking about the Federation,  Rick. You really think a Rick needs a Beatriz? None of the other Ricks have one this close. Hell, half of us have never had a sister. You think you need her?"

"Rick, I love you, but you're kind of an asshole," Bea says flatly, and Riq rolls his eyes.

"Don't think we don't know what happened to your Rebellion, J19ζ7."

Rick's hand tightens around the communicator, and Riq smiles again. "So here's what's gonna happen. You're going to join us in building a safe haven for Ricks and you're going to be on call for anything else we need from you, because if you try to use that old "I've got more important things" bullshit with us, Rick, we'll make sure you don't have any fucking distractions."

"Um," one of the Ricks says, one of the ones who probably has a sister. "We, uh- we've also been going around telling Ricks about the kids."

"What kids?" Bea asks, and he tries not to smile at her, probably because he's standing next to a Rick who just threatened her.

"Beth just had her second kid in most universes- we're a grandpa!"

"Not this one," Riq says, turning. "This one doesn't even have a Beth."

"Oh," says the Bealess Rick. "Uh, well- bye?"

"I'm an Auntie?" Bea asks, and one of the Ricks who has her for a sister shoots her a smile over his shoulder, slightly puzzled like he can't figure out why she's saying that. The portal closes behind them, leaving no trace of them except for the comm device in Rick's hands. Bea gently slugs Rick in the arm. "I'm an Auntie and you're a grandfather! Are we Tia and Abuelito or are we Auntie and Grandpop?"

"We're none of those things," Rick says, putting the communicator down. "Those aren't our kids, we're probably never going to meet any of them."

"Bull-donkey," she says happily. "Look, Rick, that you with the weird beard thinks he's got you by the you-know-whats because he said they'll kill me if you don't do whatever they want, right?"

"You're t-taking this really well," Rick says warily.

"So just do what they want," she says easily. "And while you're building this boys' club for Ricks, build me a way in. That way if they make you go there again I can visit you whenever I want."

"Don't you think they'll notice you, though, you're... obviously not a Rick," Rick points out, and she beams at him.

"Ricky, half of you have a me, so you'll be happy to see me. The other half is obviously confused about my entire existence, worst case scenario, I'll just pretend to be a you from a dimension where things are different."

"Do you really think that's gonna work?" Rick asks, but he likes the idea, anyway.

"I think I'm gonna eat all these brownies without you, but yeah, Rick. Hell yeah. I am pretty sure I could fake being you in a place where there are infinite variations of you," she says, giving him a hug. "I mean, obviously, there's you, who is clearly the best Rick, and there's that  Roman Numerals Rick who is clearly in the bottom fifth of shitty Ricks."

"It's Riq with a Q," Rick tells her, and she snorts.

"How can you tell?" she asks, and he taps the side of his forehead. She slugs him again, giggling.

(He runs into Softee Rick again, who smiles tightly at him when he asks about the grandkids. He gives him a photo out of his wallet; a ginger toddler and a dark-eyed baby, Summer and Morty. Rick loves them, knows Bea's going to love them.

"So you still live with your sister?" Softee Rick asks, and Rick nods. He likes Softee Rick; he's one of the only Ricks who doesn't call him Doofus.

"How, uh- how is she?" he asks tentatively. Rick tells him- she got some money together and bought an old theater in a small town, she's been renovating it with the help of a couple of her friends, she's thinking about opening a cafe in the lobby and showing old movies while people eat. Rick comes home and tells Bea, showing her the picture, and she _does_ love them.

"Hey, Ricky, what's going on with your friend's Bea?" she asks slowly, and it occurs to Rick that- well, no, he didn't ask, but the more he thinks about it the more obvious it is that Softee Rick doesn't know. He starts to get a bad feeling about _why_ he doesn't know.)

It's a couple of years after the Citadel is finished when Rick's comm goes off.

 **CHECK ON YOUR SISTER** , it reads. Some Rick he doesn't know sent it.

"What was that beeping?" Bea asks, poking her head in from another room.

"I dunno," Rick says slowly, looking up at her. She's just got back from another trip, and he doesn't know how he feels about her carrying a regular non-portal gun around, but she's otherwise safe and normal. "You're not feeling sick or anything, are you?"

"I sprained my shoulder but I think I'm gonna go get a massage," she says, blinking. "And I was gonna meet up with my pals Jake and Coral, you know, I picked up some human-safe sformaq'alish crystals my last dimension hop and we were gonna smoke-"

"Beatriz, uh," Rick says, as a second message comes in, a different Rick, **FIND BEA**. "Listen, m-maybe you should just stick close for- for now." Two more messages, **SISTER WHERE?** and **LOCATE HER** , from two more Ricks. "Just, uh, just until I get back, I think- I think something's happening at the Citadel and I- I think-"

A message that can only be from Riq IV, **KEEP NONESSENTIAL CHATTER OFF THE OFFICIAL LINE.**

"Oh boy," Rick says, before his comm explodes, dozens of Ricks, hundreds of Ricks, thousands of the bastards chiming in, his comm glitching between messages over and over, **FUCK YOU** and **SISTER** and **NO** and **SISTER** and **SISTER** and **SISTER** -

"Rick?" Bea asks quietly, her hand on her shoulder, her eyes wide. "I can stay here until you get back. That's okay. I'll be fine, I'll just- I'll just eat what we have."

"Okay," Rick says, shoving the comm away and taking out his portal gun. "Bea? I love you."

"I love you too, bro-bro," Bea says, watching him carefully as he portals into the Citadel.

(He comes back eight hours later. "Hey, Rick, how was-" she starts, and he pulls her into a hug, burying his face against her shoulder. He'd tried to help as many Ricks as he could, but most of them- most of them couldn't find any traces in their home dimensions, and the ones who did found bodies, or sometimes just _parts_. He knows this didn't happen to her, but he can still see a burnt-out husk of a vehicle with _something_ in the trunk, he can still see the huddled mass of bone and clothing and hair with rusted handcuffs still on what were wrists once, he can still see Formerly-Teenager Rick screaming and tearing through the dirt with his bare hands, uncovering a spot in the back yard of the house where he grew up. Rick doesn't think he can even say to her that there were so, so many ways he almost lost her, and for every Rick who at least found a body, found something, there were ten who didn't, like she'd never even fucking existed.)

He starts being called in more and more to the Citadel- he feels bad, and they know he feels bad, and the Ricks who make these decisions make sure he knows that they don't care.

He's gone for a couple of weeks, holed up in some Citadel apartment being rotated in and out of assignments, when he comes downstairs and Bea's at the front desk, chatting up the Receptionist Rick.

"-so there I am, desperately trying to rewire the portal gun without looking because these things only move when you're not looking at them," she says, and the Rick laughs nervously.

"Hey-" Rick says, and she brightens up, giving Receptionist Rick a quick salute.

"Well, here's the man I came to see, but you have a good day, buddy," she tells him, and he bobs his head in a nod. "Ricky! Wow, you look tired."

"I'm kinda tired," he admits, letting her fuss over him for a minute or two. "What're you doing here?"

"I can't come visit the best brother in the entire multiverse?" she asks mildly, and he knows it's highly irregular but he's also really glad she's here.

"I was gonna get food, you hungry?" he asks, and she loops an arm around his waist.

"Sure thing. Hey, check out the grands," she says proudly, pulling a picture out of her pocket. "I got one of you to give me a recent photo."

He looks it over, smiling. The kids must be four and eight now. Rick runs his fingertips over their smiling, gap-toothed faces before passing it back to her. "Cute kids."

"They get it from you, obviously." She tucks the photo away. "I was gonna make copies and frame it. You want one for your wallet?"

"Um, that's okay, I feel- I feel a little weird about it," Rick admits, and she nods.

"That's alright. You know, Morty's about the same age as Jake and Coral's kids. You remember the twins?"

"Uh huh," Rick nods, and she walks with him into a shitty little diner. It's shitty because- well, he doesn't know why but he can guess that, like him, not one Rick actually wanted to build it or run it or maintain it. Sure enough, there's only one actual Rick working, and a handful of aproned Meeseeks drones.

"Hi, Rick. Hi, Misters Meeseeks," Bea says cheerfully, seating herself at the counter. The Rick behind the counter looks startled, his eyes watering a little before he narrows his eyes and gives Rick an evil glare.

"What is this?" he hisses, and Rick puts his hands up.

"Not a clone. Not timeline shit. My Bea has always lived with me," he says, used to the line of questioning by now.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Rick," Bea says quietly.

"Get the fuck out of here, fuckwad," the Rick says thickly, and Bea looks like she wants to fight about it, and Rick just sighs and drags her out by the arm.

"You can't let them talk to you like that," she says in a hiss.

"Bea, he's just... he's probably just surprised and upset. I'd probably react the same way," Rick tells her, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"You wouldn't drop the F-bomb," she counters, and he resists the urge to prove her wrong. She frowns at him, tapping her forehead a little, and he watches her patiently while she decides what to say.

"You should come home," she says slowly.

"Oh, this isn't a forever thing, Bea-bea, I'll be off the rotation soon," he reassures her.

"No, you should come home," she repeats, adjusting her glasses. She looks up at the artificial sky, then back down at him. "You should come home."

"Okay," Rick says cautiously. She pulls out her own portal gun and he realizes what she means. He grabs her hand, shaking his head. "Oh, hey. No. I can't go home right now, sweetie, it's going to have to be later, when they- when they don't need me."

"They seem like they're doing okay," she says, frowning. "What are they gonna do, stop me?"

"Well, they- they might," he says weakly, and she hums a little.

"Who's in charge of this thing?" she demands after a minute.

"Um, well, there's an official Council now," he says warily. "They can detect stuff like rogue portal usage and whatever, plus they- they'll know when I don't show up, Bea."

"Doesn't even sound like something you'd do," she says scathingly, firing the portal gun at the wall. "When did these other Ricks get to be such assholes, Rick?"

"I don't know, sweetie," he admits, looking nervously around, but when she holds an expectant hand out to him, he can't _not_ take it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She seems to expect it when the security team eventually comes; Rick's pretty sure that's the reason why she set the table for six and made extra spaghetti.

"Alright, Doofus Rick," one wearing an officer's jacket says, and Bea stands up, still grinning pleasantly. "Look, you- you're screwing around with-" He pauses, looking at the table.

"You guys are welcome to join us," Bea says. "It's that spicy home recipe marinara sauce I'm sure my Rick's told you about."

"Beeaa," Rick groans, squirming.

"Wait, this is Doofus Rick's dimension?" one of the Ricks asks, disgusted. "I heard they eat their own shit here."

Bea slowly turns her head to look at the offending Rick, who is visibly unimpressed. "Wow, Rick, did you know we write 'gullible' on the ceilings here, too?" she asks, and Rick puts his face in his hands beside her.

"Beatriz, that's enough," the Rick in charge of the team says, without any heat. "You're not involved with this. Rick, you've been charged with unauthorized portal entry in and out of the Citadel and abandoning your post, we're taking you with us."

"No you're not," Bea snaps. "Rick didn't do those things. I portalled in and out of the Citadel and brought him home. If you're going to apprehend anybody, it'll be me, and you might as well hit me for kidnapping as well, you jerks."

"Bea," the Rick in charge sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained sigh. "We're not going to apply the laws to you, you're not a Rick. Now-"

"I count as a Rick," Bea says firmly, and the rude- well, _ruder_ \- Rick at the end of the lineup laughs at her.

"Yeah, no. Some weird broad with a portal gun does not a Rick make, alright?"

"Shut up, Ampersand-671," the Rick in charge says quietly.

"Oh, come on," Rick &-671 protests. "Look lady, I know you're basing your ideas off this shitty defective Rick you ended up with, but you're not even as smart as a dumbass Rick. You're just some chubby female with our genetics."

Bea puts her hand in Rick's before he can recover from what Rick &-671 just said. He laces their fingers together, and she squeezes.

"Wow, Ampersand, you sounded exactly like Mom just then," she says quietly. Three out of the four Ricks flinch visibly; even &-671 looks momentarily ashamed of himself.

"If you're really trying to be tried as a Rick in your Rick's place-" the leader Rick says, sighing. "Then... fine. Come along quietly, Bea."

"Let me put this food away in Tupperwares first," she says, and he looks at the ceiling, visibly pleading with the heavens.

"Fine. _Then_ come along quietly."

"Thank you, Rick," she says pleasantly, before giving Rick a smile. "Let's get this put away, Ricky."

The next several minutes are- even for him- bizarre. He trails around behind Bea, watching the way she struts around like she does when she's got a plan that's-

- _oh_.

Rick glances around. She's not even hiding how smug she's feeling right now, she's doing everything _but_ laugh in their faces, and the Ricks- _none_ of the Ricks are picking up on the fact that she's acting like she's just thought of a 45-point word in Scrabble.

It dawns on Rick, as they stand together before the Council, that none of the other Ricks know what his sister's like as an adult.

Bea catches his eye, and he smiles hopefully at her.

"Beatriz Sanchez of J19ζ7, you're here to petition the Council to... recognize you as a Rick?" Riq IV asks, frowning down his nose at her. Some of the other Ricks on the bench look perplexed. One looks outright scared.

"Yes sir, Roman Numerals Sir," she says, tossing out a messy salute.

"Specifically so you can serve Rick-J19ζ7's sentence for his crimes?" he continues, and she puts on the damn fakest look of shock Rick's ever seen her make.

"Why, no, sir," she says, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm petitioning the Council to recognize me as a Rick in order to try my innocence in the case of the aforementioned crimes. I mean, gosh, you wouldn't sentence somebody without a trial, that's what the Federation did to everybody they suspected of sedition on Ostraenger-7, and we all know how _that_ turned out."

The courtroom is silent for several minutes.

"That was a real dick move, bringing that up," Maximums Rickimus says, stunned and visibly impressed.

"Wasn't it?" Bea asks, winking. "I like your hair, by the way. You know you can get it glossier and smoother if you make a leave-in conditioner out of mayonaise, right? Oil and egg whites. Hit me up for the recipe sometime."

"Will do," he replies, and Rick's... pretty sure she's got at least one fan on the Council.

"So you're as much a dick as the average Rick," Riq IV says sharply. "That does not make you a Rick, Miss Sanchez. Ricks are-"

"Roman Numerals, _sir_ , you have Ricks who aren't even remotely human. I've met a Rick who's some kind of David Cronenberg monster, and a Rick who's some kind of creature from the Black Lagoon, and Ricks who are completely artificially-built automatons. You can't tell _me_ there's just one kind of Rick that exists," she says, spreading her hands. "I know what ** _I_** know about Ricks. I know Ricks are scientists and lovers of exploration, I know Ricks love the weird dimensions we've been to, even the stupid and mundane ones that don't do anything other dimensions don't. I've seen the starlight warp over Malachor-Five, and I've seen the skies go dark over the gral'fik orchards of Blennavennadin. I've seen the blasted-glass deserts of Amalfa Prime's moon. I've seen beautiful, wonderful things, and no amount of self-obsessed fascism from a bunch of Ricks caught in the multiverse's most useless dick-measuring contest can take that away from me."

Rick doesn't think he can possibly be more proud of the weird little sister he raised. Riq raises a hand.

"Ricks are _smart_ ," he says irritably. "Ricks are _geniuses_. Every Rick built his own portal gun, not gone around to these dimensions using something they stole from a _real_ Rick-"

"So what you're saying is, in order to be a Rick, I have to build my own portal gun?" Bea asks. She pulls her gun out of its holster and smashes it to pieces on the marble floor in front of her, stomping on it a few times for good measure. She turns to the Ricks of the Council, hand out. "Alright, Ricks, give me the materials to build a portal gun."

"We're not playing this game with you-" Riq says heatedly.

"I'm not playing," Bea says, lying shamelessly. Rick's mind is actually boggled by how comfortable she is with deceiving all these other copies of him. "Either you prove I cannot do it by providing me the materials, or I prove that I can do it and am at least as smart as a Rick. Are you really going to refuse because you're scared of what the result's gonna be?"

"Give it to her," Quantum Rick says, leaning forward. "And give her a single hour."

"You're too generous," Bea says seriously. Rick looks around nervously; surely none of these Ricks would think that he'd give her access to dangerous portal tech without making sure she knew how to fix or rebuild anything she needed if she ended up in a tight spot. None of them realize their error. Rick wonders if any of them even considered doing the responsible thing here.

It only takes Bea half an hour to have a working gun; she wastes another ten minutes carving a fancy cursive B into the handle.

"You want me to test it?" she asks, and a Bailiff Rick takes it from her, shooting a portal at the floor. It comes out bright blue instead of lime-green.

"It's not going to work," Riq says.

"Your portal color is _gross_ ," she replies. "If you're scared to test it-"

A nearby Rick shoves the Bailiff Rick through, and the portal closes. Seven seconds pass, and the Bailiff Rick returns through another blue portal, giving the Rick who pushed him an evil glare.

"Looks servicable to me," Rick Prime says coyly, giving Riq a shiteating grin.

"Look, bros, if we're _quite_ done here," Bea says, batting her eyes at the Council.

"Bea," Rick breathes out, hands on his face.

"Okay," Riq relents, drumming his gloved fingertips on the tabletop with a slow, devious smile. "We'll vote on it. And if you _are_ a Rick in the eyes of the court, you'll be put to trial immediately."

"Sure," Bea says, grinning back at him.

"All in favor of recognizing Beatriz Sanchez as a Rick, raise your right hand," Riq says. Unsurprisingly, one of the Ricks keeps his hand down, his expression stony- Ricktiminus Sancheziminius had been one of the Ricks who'd found a corpse, Rick remembers with a pang. Riq's hand is raised, and he smiles wider. "Very well. The majority rules, you're a Rick. Congratulations, Sister Rick."

"Thank you, Roman Numerals," Bea says sweetly.

"Now for your criminal trial," Riq continues, and she grins wider at him. He pauses, considering for a moment, then snaps his fingers. "Trial by combat. Bring in Butcher Rick."

"What!" Rick cries out, jumping to his feet. "Y-you can't do that, he's a monster-"

"This is a highly irregular trial for this type of crime," Maximums Rickimus says, eyes narrowed.

"I accept," Bea says calmly. She gives Rick a squeeze. "I'll win if you're here cheering me on, Rick. You're the only person who'd never abandon me, after all."

Half of the Ricks in the room wince. Rick cannot _believe_ she's playing all of them so easily.

The Rick who is led into the room on a chain is dragging a heavy machete along the floor, and is wearing clothing flecked and stained with blood.

"Who am I here for?" Butcher Rick asks, rolling his shoulders with a cracking noise. "I _love_ killing myself."

"Ooh, edgy," Bea whispers. Rick nudges her.

"This... blonde female Rick is here to undergo a trial by combat," Riq says stiffly.

"No shit," Butcher Rick says, glancing over at her with a smile that makes Rick want to throw up. "Looks kinda like Mami." His fist tightens around the handle of his blade.

"What a rude thing to say about a person," Bea marvels, dusting herself off before slipping her hands into her pockets. "So when's this trial beginning?"

"Now," Riq says sharply, and Butcher Rick surges forward. Rick's heart leaps into his throat as she darts to the side, a fist flying out into Butcher's elbow as he swings his machete, making him swing wide. He stumbles and she turns, grabbing onto his outstretched arm and throwing him over her shoulder in a textbook example from the martial arts classes Rick paid for all through her high school years. Butcher lands on his back, winded, and she kicks the machete out of his hand and plants her boot on the front of his throat.

"Yield," she says, and he stares up at her, eyes narrowed.

"You're not a Rick," he says slowly.

"Excuse me, the court says I am," she says politely.

"A Rick would have killed me by now," he spits. "A real Rick would end me _right fucking_ -"

"I'm not going to be the thing you use to kill yourself, Rick," she tells him softly. He grabs her foot in both hands and twists, sweeping her onto her side, and she kicks him in the chest before he can get back up. She bounces to her feet and kicks the machete up, catching it neatly out of the air, and points it at his throat.

"Do it. Do it! Just fucking-" Butcher screams at her, and she brings the handle down on his head, knocking him senseless.

"You're not the boss of me," she says flatly, even though he's absolutely unconscious and she's directing it at the Council. Rick's chewing his fingernails bloody.

"So I guess you're... free to go," Quantum Rick says slowly, realizing that Riq IV's just sitting there with his mouth open.

"Thank you, Rick," Bea says, watching the Bailiff Ricks drag Butcher away. "Hey, uh, sidenote, I think that guy needs a therapist."

"How," Riq says hoarsely, before standing up in his seat. " _How_ did you get out of this, you _stupid little_ -"

"Hey, genius," Bea interrupts, picking up her new portal gun and putting an arm around Rick. "I'm twenty-seven and I work out every damn day. You're fifty-two and drink your meals. Why don't you do the fucking math on _that_ one?"

Rick hears at least three other Ricks shriek _ohhhh my god_ and crow with mad, cackling laughter before she portals them back to their dining room.

He sits down in his chair at the table, stunned, and she gives him a smooch on the forehead.

"You really are the _best_ Rick," she tells him, beaming. "Let's see about reheating that s'ghetti, huh?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 


	2. Beatriz and Morty

Ricks start bringing Morties with them to the Citadel. Rick's seen other people- sometimes those Pines guys, never any other Beas, but a fair number of kids who look suspiciously like Rick or like her or like those Pineses, come to think of it, Rick sort of wonders why that is, why everybody dates the same people, why these other Ricks never seem to think it's a bad idea to drag children into the multiverse, but then again, he did it with Bea, too-

-but all of a sudden, it seems, Rick starts seeing his grandson. Ricks don't usually like letting their Morties talk to him, for some reason, but he gets to know a few. They remind him of Bea at that age sometimes, and whenever she gets a chance to meet one- not a common occurrence, as she starts to really dislike most Ricks- she's always charmed to death.

He comes in on her eating a pot of macaroni and cheese in the kitchen, watching a documentary with the sound off. He takes a seat next to her, letting her decide if she's going to talk or not.

Finally, she does.

"Are you ever... mad," she says, stirring her noodles intently.

"Can you be more specific?" he asks.

"If it wasn't for me you'd have had Beth," she says slowly. "If it wasn't for me you'd have Summer and Morty."

"Oh, no, Bea," he says quickly, and she ducks her head.

"Are you mad that I took them from you?"

"You didn't, Bea. You r-really didn't." He gives her shoulder a hopeful squeeze. "Hey, Bea, look. The kids are great, you know? But they're not- they're not you. I wouldn't trade having you for them, even though I do like the idea of them a whole lot. And nothing _made_ me not go out and get married or whatever all the other Ricks did to get those kids, you know? I decided. I chose."

She gives him a watery smile around a mouthful of macaroni, and he uses her fork to steal some. It's pretty good, even if it's cold now.

"What got that on your mind?" he asks.

"Anniversary," she says quietly, taking her fork back. "Thirty years ago tonight. You, ah. You rescued me."

"I wasn't sure you were old enough to remember," he says thoughtfully.

"I remember them," she says, leaning into his side. "I remember that everything was- was bad. That it was blank when you weren't there. And when you were there, everything was good."

He sits back, frowning. He'd sort of hoped she wouldn't have remembered anything concrete about living with their parents, but apparently... well.

"You're my favorite person," Rick tells her eventually.

"And you're my favorite person," she echoes, before sighing.

"I guess that makes me pretty lucky, then," he says, and she puts her head on his shoulder.

Usually, this is when she wakes up with two broken knees and a burn down her chest and her love's name in her mouth.

Luckily, for most iterations of her, she wakes up in the care of the best surgeon in the multiverse.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rick doesn't know which Rick discovered that Morty can be useful. Rick doesn't want to know which version of him would look at a child and think of him as a convenient tool. Travel with Morties becomes mandatory. Rick tries to keep his head down- he's not the only Rick who either doesn't have a Morty or whose Morty is too young to travel, but those Ricks who garner too much attention end up dragged back to the Citadel for "their own safety." Rick feels sick, thinking about it.

And then some bastard realizes what none of them had really thought about before: Morties are almost always young, and Ricks are almost always old, and for every Rick who lived to see his grandchildren's births there are two who died along the way.

Rick's there when they corral the first batch of Rickless Morties into the Citadel, most of them shellshocked little eleven year olds in pajamas, designations scribbled hastily onto their foreheads with marker. There are fourteen of them, that first night.

Softee Rick is there with him, on some small errand for his family, and he looks furious and disgusted. He portals out of there before he can watch them divvy the Morties out. Rick bites his lower lip and sends Bea a message on the comm he built for her- **GET HERE NOW**.

"J19ζ7, come here and get your Morty," one of the Ricks says dully, reading his title out of an entry in a folder, and Rick is rooted to the spot, eyes wide.

"No," he says quietly, and the Rick shoves the boy towards him. Rick gently catches him by the shoulders, looking up at the Rick in charge of this debacle. "This is wrong. These Morties belong with their families-"

"Congratulations," the Rick says flatly. "You're the only family the kid has left, you really gonna kick him out?"

Morty's shaking against Rick's chest.

"I'm sorry, Morty," Rick whispers, hugging the poor kid tightly. "Oh my god, Morty, I'm so sorry." There's a flash of blue behind him, and a brief moment of silence at the unfamiliar portal before it clicks into place for most of them- she hasn't exactly kept her movements a secret, after all.

"Where are the Summers?" Bea asks quietly, and Morty bursts into tears in Rick's arms.

"Collateral damage," the Rick says, frowning. "Who-"

"Sister Rick," she interrupts. "Bea Rick. What the fuck is going on here?"

"Hey, you're on the list," the Rick says, consulting his folder, and she freezes, staring. "Here you go."

An identical little boy is pushed towards her, and Bea is, for once, too stunned to react.

"Alright, everybody's got their Morties? Good," the Rick says, snapping his folder shut. Ricks start portalling out of there; some of them have the grace to look a little ashamed of themselves. Rick and Bea look at one another, and Rick doesn't know what to do-

"Let's... let's go home," Bea says in a quiet voice, and they do. Rick makes dinner while she kneels next to the kids, carefully cleaning all trace of the numbers from their faces.

"I'm, uh. I'm your grandpa's sister, Bea," she tells the boys, crouching down. "You don't have to call him grandpa or abuelito or anything if you don't want to. You don't have to call me tia or aunt or whatever. We can be just Rick and Bea, okay kids?"

"We're both Morty," the one on the left says dully, not looking at his double.

"You're both Morty," she agrees, stroking his hair off his forehead. "If it makes you more comfortable we can use a nickname for anybody who wants it, but if you just want to be plain ol' regular Morty, that's fine."

"But then you w-won't know which one of us is which," the other one says, sniffling.

"Of course I'll know which one of you is which," Bea says, baffled. "You're you. He's him."

"But we look the same and we sound the same-" they both start in unison, breaking off in miserable horror at the same moment.

"You're both my nephew," she says soothingly. "We'll figure something out."

"It's rice and beans," Rick says timidly. Neither of the Morties wants to look at him.

Well. Before today neither of them had ever met a grandfather, and the ones they met first killed their parents and sister.

The boys take to calling themselves B-Morty and 2-Morty. Rick suspects B-Morty calls himself that because he's the one who was assigned to her. They don't... they don't relax, not really, not ever, but they stop flinching every time Rick enters the room. They eat the food he makes and they sit between him and Bea when they're watching TV. They shuffle their feet and avoid eye contact when he tells them he loves them. It's not their fault. None of it was their fault.

It's uncomfortably familiar. Rick thinks a lot about carrying a noodly little kid on his hip 30 years ago, thinks about trying to teach her that she's allowed to eat, thinks about the abject terror in her tiny face the first time she wet the bed. He tries his best to give the boys anything they need, even if that ends up being space.

Sometimes Rick wakes up from a nightmare, or just can't get to sleep, or stays up too late, and sometimes when he collapses onto the couch to watch infomercials B-Morty is already there. He always seems puzzled that Rick knows it's him, as if Rick and Bea haven't already figured out that B-Morty seems more mature than 2-Morty, that he is more tired and less innocent and expects less of them than 2-Morty does. His smiles are slower and fleeting, and he is constantly baffled by the things Bea and Rick do for the two of them.

Bea likes to spend one-on-one time with the kids. She likes to take them shopping; 2-Morty likes khaki cargo shorts and wears them everywhere, regardless of how clean they are, and he likes Peanuts so much that Bea buys him some nice soft yellow shirts with black lines and calls him Charlie Brown when they're goofing off, and when Halloween rolls around he watches 'It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' with his head in her lap, her fingers carding idly through his hair. B-Morty starts wearing button-up shirts over his jeans, tucking them in with a belt regardless of where he is or what he's doing, and after a few weeks of watching Bea punching a weighted bag in the garage every morning he asks her if he can start taking lessons, and they come in for breakfast every morning sweaty and quiet and smiling.

2-Morty shyly asks Rick if he can learn how to cook using science, too. B-Morty shyly asks Rick if he can help teach him how to tie a Windsor knot.

The boys ask if they can get a pet; B-Morty picks out an older, shaggy one-eyed cat with a tuxedo coat, and to the surprise of no one, 2-Morty names her Snoopy. Bea talks to Jake and Coral about maybe coming over for Thanksgiving so the Morties can have a holiday with a big family; their twins are a couple of years younger than the boys but she thinks they would get along well. They avoid talking about the other Ricks, the Citadel, dimensional travel- sometimes they ask the boys about it and sometimes the boys volunteer information, but usually they sidestep the topic of their original worlds and their dead families. They know they have to talk to the boys about it eventually, but they just want the boys to be happy and to trust them before they make them talk about it.

Rick's never seen Bea so happy. He already loves both of the Morties, but even if he didn't, he'd love them for that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Something with eyes and mouths and an unending hunger finds her. There are more of her than there are of this thing, which is good, because it likes to have options.

Most of the time, she's alone when this thing takes notice. An easy target.

In another world- in other worlds- she takes a shaking step from within a pale blue portal into a foul-smelling forest. In these worlds she hasn't eaten in days.

In these worlds the thing makes itself known to her, intrusive touches and canned baby eyes and a tongue in her ear and the first suggestion that this thing alone loves her.

They're playing Uno at the kitchen table when a portal opens up and Rick walks out wearing a dark trenchcoat over ragged, dirty clothes and heavy leather boots, pointing a gun at them. Rick can't tell what kind of gun, but he's sure he doesn't want it being pointed at his sister or his grandsons. Snoopy hisses at him from under the table.

"I'm taking the kids," the Rick says brusquely, and Bea's on her feet first.

"The fuck you are," she says furiously.

"Who the-" the Rick starts, then stops, smiling slowly. "Ohhh. You're Doofus Rick's Beatriz, aren't you? I'd wondered why there were two Morties here when there's only the one R-rick. Why d-don't you sit the fuck down before you get put down?"

"Get out of m-my house, Rick," Rick says, unable to keep the tremble out of his voice even as he crowds the boys behind him.

"Sure, I'll leave- as soon as I've got these extra Morties," he replies coolly.

"Hey, in case you missed the memo, asshole, the Council recognizes me as a Rick," Bea snarls. "You're not taking either of our Morties and if you think you can-"

"In case it wasn't abundantly clear," the Rick interrupts, shooting a red bolt out of his gun and disintegrating the chair nearest to him. Snoopy flees from the room with a terrified yowl in a flash of black and white. " Fuck the Council. I'm n-not taking no for an answer. The boys are coming with me."

"No, they're _not_ ," Rick says, hand on his comm. The Rick points the gun at the center of Bea's chest.

"Why don't you ask yourself if they're worth seeing her die?"

"Fuck you, I'd rather die than let you near my nephews," Bea spits out. "Rick, get the boys out of here, keep them together and keep them safe-"

"This won't even be the first time I've killed you, Bea," the Rick says, baring his teeth in a rictus grin. "Although the last time you were k-kinda _littler_. You wanna hear about it, Bea-bea? Wanna know how long it took me to find you after you ran away, and how loud you screamed when I found you? Wanna know what you s-said before I blew your brains out?" The Rick starts to squeeze the trigger, a knowing smirk on his face as he stares not at Rick, but at the children behind him.

"No," 2-Morty cries out, clutching Rick's sleeve. "Don't- don't hurt Aunt Bea-"

B-Morty is silent, his little hands a vice grip on Rick's other arm.

" _H-how d-d-dare you_ ," Rick says, shaking. "How- how can- I'm not trading my grandkids for my sister's life, you sick son of a-"

"You have to promise not to hurt her o-or Rick," B-Morty interrupts quietly, shoving past Rick, ducking Rick's attempt to grab him back.

"No," Bea breathes out, surging forward. "No, Morty, no, honey please-"

She gets too close; the Rick's hand moves and brings the butt of the gun down on the side of her head with a crack, knocking her glasses off and bringing her to her knees. 2-Morty wails at the sight of her blood, and Rick has to wrap his arms around his waist to keep him from running across the room to where she and the other Rick are. The Rick brings the gun down again, splitting the skin open over her temple and left cheekbone, and she collapses in a heap on the kitchen floor. B-Morty tries to dart to her side and the Rick snatches his collar, yanking him back and putting the gun to his head.

"I want them both but I only need one," he snarls, and Rick can feel a sob hitching through his chest. "She's unconscious now, she can't hear you. You c-can stop pretending that the Morties matter to you, because the longer this takes, the longer she's going to go without medical attention. Give them both to me or you'll get to watch this one die first, then her."

"R-Rick, let me go!" 2-Morty wails, flailing against him.

"Why are you d-doing this?" Rick sobs. "Wh-why don't you just kill me, you m-monster?"

"You know, funny thing is-" the Rick shrugs slowly. "I actually don't like s-seeing me hurt, even if it is a stupid me from some shiteating dimension."

"Rick," B-Morty pleads, eyes darting between him and Bea's crumpled body. "R-Rick, I'll take care of him, please, I-I don't- I don't wanna see anybody else die, Rick-"

Rick's arms loosen slightly. He is never going to stop wondering if it's because he's fifty-nine and built like a beanpole or if it's because, for just a fraction of an instant, he let himself think that Morty could be even remotely capable of protecting himself from a Rick. He is never going to stop blaming himself for it.

(A few years later, he finds out about Evil Rick's collection of hundreds of tortured, Rickless Morties, and how they all got sent back to their families. He waits and hopes. Neither of them are returned to him or Bea.)

2-Morty struggles free and runs headlong against his double; the Rick shoots open a portal and grabs the kids by the arms.

"Nice doin' business with you," he says, before dragging them through.

The sudden silence is overwhelming. Rick can hear noises off the street, a tv from one of their neighboring houses, and for a wild minute he can't understand why nobody else is here to witness what just happened. Then he remembers that there is.

"Oh my god, _oh my god_ ," he cries, rushing over to his sister's side.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 She is quiet for days afterwards, speaking only to thank Rick for dinner or for letting her use his workshop. She tinkers, and doesn't tell him what she's tinkering with, and the only time he offers she flatly refuses, giving him a soft hug to let him know that it's not _him_ she's upset with.

She comes out of the garage with three little ovoid machines, her hands covered in grease, and she arranges them in a wide triangle in the living room. She touches a button on a little handheld remote and there's a faint hum, a barely perceptible shimmer- and then nothing at all to indicate that they're on.

"Rick, portal in and grab this magazine off the table, please," she says. He fires a small portal- arm sized, he doesn't want to step on the coffee table- and instead of opening up the other side over the table, like he'd intended, it opens up a few feet to the side, at the edge of the little perimeter she's established.

For the first time in weeks, Bea smiles, and it's a grim little thing.

"I believe the proper word is _Eureka_ ," she says smugly.

"Bea, that's amazing," Rick says, because it is, pulling his arm back through to rub his sleeve a little. He's never heard of anybody who isn't a Rick inventing anti-portal technology- hell, the Federation's been trying for _years_ \- and actually, he can't really think of any Ricks who've thought to invent it, either. Who would invent something to keep themselves out of the places they want to visit?

"Hey, Ricky," Bea says quietly, her smile fading as she chews on her thumbnail, looking at her little machines. "I, um. I'm thinking."

"Okay, Bea," Rick says cautiously. "Would it help if I gave it a listen?"

"I think so," she says slowly. "I, um. I'm thinking of moving out."

"Oh," Rick says, and she looks up quickly, alarmed at his tone, and he puts his hands up. "I think you'll have a lot of fun in your own place, Bea, but, uh- full d-disclosure, this is kinda c-comin' out of nowhere, isn't it?"

"I dunno," she says, looking down. "I've, uh. I've been thinking about it ever since Ricks started just, uh. Showing up in the house because _I guess_ they figure they own the place."

"Oh, sweetheart, why didn't you say anything?" Rick asks softly, and she shrugs.

"Didn't want you to be lonely," she admits. "Still don't. Rick, um, if you... if you tell me to stay-"

"Bea," Rick sighs, coming close and taking her hand in both of his. "Yes, I'll be lonely without you, but I also- I-I also want you to do what's best for you. If you feel s-safer somewhere you know the other- the _others_ can't come in whenever they want, I want you to feel safer. I'll be okay, and we'll still see each other all the time, and I'll help set up your lab in the new place if you want, and we'll- we'll still be happy, just because we don't live together, th-that's not gonna change. Okay?"

"Okay," she says, pulling him into a hug and mashing her face against his bony shoulder. He wraps his arms around her and allows himself to feel crushed, but only for a moment, only just until she pulls back from the hug, and by the time she can see his face again it's the same gentle smile he had on before.

"I love you, Bea," he tells her.

"I love you, too," she replies, smiling weakly in return.

She is walking away from eighty tiny graves, and the smell of smoke will linger for days. She opens the note the little pink iguana-child gave her: _See you real soon._

She has no idea that she's walking into a trap. She has no idea that she's been in this thing's trap for months.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bea spends a lot of time at the Citadel in between getting her new house ready, arguing with anyone who will see her that a rescue needs to be staged for her Morty, for Rick's Morty, that the Rick who kidnapped them needs to be apprehended and dealt with. The Council refuses to see her, and she leaves dozens of increasingly hopeless messages with the Secretary Rick at the front desk. They assign Rick a new Morty, from a dimension where everyone "looks like Eric Stoltz from Mask." Rick doesn't understand the pop culture reference, but he assumes it's in regards to the ubitquitous craniodiaphyseal dysplasia he's seen in this dimension.

(He wonders, briefly, what he'd looked like here, what Beth had looked like, but for once she'd died of natural causes, it seems, and Morty is quieter and less forthcoming than 2-Morty or even B-Morty had been. He just calls this grandson Morty; in Morty's home dimension, Cher hadn't had an acting career, and there was no such movie, and he'd asked Rick and Bea if he could watch it to find out what everybody was talking about. He is thoughtful towards the end, and doesn't comment on the movie's plot, and Bea gets a headache halfway through and falls asleep against Rick's side, like she always used to as a kid.)

She finishes her new house- it's a fixer-upper, three stories and a basement, and she spends months (and a startlingly large amount of money that Rick, frankly, has no idea where it came from) to make the house perfect, if a little bland. He asks her what she plans on doing with five bedrooms, and she smiles tightly and says nothing, shrugging and fiddling with her portal gun. The scars on her face are unfamiliar, but she's still his sister, still the baby he'd fallen in love with, still the little kid he'd bundled into his arms and stolen from their parents. He throws her a housewarming party- her friends come, bringing their twins along, and the kids are kind to Morty in a way Rick had privately feared they wouldn't be. They include him in things, and later Morty tells Rick all sorts of interesting facts about Jake and Coral's kids, animated in a way Rick's never seen him ~~since 2-Morty~~. She goes to the Citadel the next day, because she-

-she still thinks the boys are alive and okay. She doesn't know Rick the way he does; her deep distaste for the way he treats himself and his family and his associates in most corners of the multiverse means she's avoided interacting with a Rick she doesn't know in the last few years. The idea of his soft-eyed little Charlie Brown Morty or her serious-minded boxing buddy Morty trapped with most Ricks makes Rick nervous; the idea of them stuck with some of the monstrous Ricks he's known, the idea of them stuck with a Rick who killed his baby sister, makes Rick want to throw up.

There is no rescue mission. The Ricks in the Citadel know themselves, too. They assign her a new Morty; she screams herself hoarse that _children aren't replacable_ , and they put her in lockup overnight for causing a scene. She is quiet and grim afterward, holding Rick's hand so tightly that he has the imprint of her short fingernails for days, and when they get to the waiting room where Rick's Morty is waiting she gives him a quick, tired smile.

"First time picking your dumb old aunt up from jail, huh?" she tries to joke, and he ducks his head in a nod.

The Morty Distribution Center introduces her to a brownhaired girl that _painfully_ reminds Rick of Bea at that age- limbs practically vibrating with a nervous energy, wide eyes darting between every new and interesting thing she sees, her narrow body rocking a little when she thinks no one's looking. There are fresh chemical burns healing all up and down her left arm, and her hair is cut into a messy, shoulder-length bob, and her dress- not just the yellow most Morties seem stuck with, but a deeper goldenrod hue- is dotted with tiny pink and blue stars.

"You're not my grandma," she says, and bursts into tears.

"There was an accident," the Rick at the desk says, and he sounds sympathetic, and he even _looks_ sympathetic. Rick wonders if this is one of the ones who's a little more okay than the others. "Morticia and Enrica Sanchez were from an all-female dimension. They, uh- there was an accident. Morticia's Rick got caught in a chemical explosion in the lab."

"Oh, sweetheart," Bea sighs, crouching down. "Um, I know I'm not your grandma, but- ah- I'm your grandma's sister, Beatriz."

"She _died_ ," the girl says miserably, and Rick and Bea exchange a quick glance, neither one sure if she's referring to her grandma or her aunt.

"Come along, sweetpea," Bea tries. "We'll, ah. We'll see about healing your arm up, right? Are you hungry? I bet you're hungry. I haven't had breakfast yet, so, ah, I'm starving."

It's harder to make Morticia come home than it was for any of the Morties. The kid's heartbroken- her Rick (Enrica, Rick remembers, and wonders) had loved her to pieces, had raised her after Beth and Jerri and Summer had died in an accident. She sounds like a nice person, like somebody Rick would have liked to be friends with.

Bea spends a day setting up a bedroom for Morticia, and starts calling her Tisha and Tish, using a nailgun to attach a shelf to the wall- which, Rick's sure, isn't safe at all. He sends the kids downstairs to get a snack, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd, uh, you'd want to take any more kids home after what happened," he says carefully.

"You did," she mutters, not looking in his direction.

"But I'm not you. I know you'll take good care of Tisha- I know you love her, but why did you do it, Bea?"

"Better me than literally any other Rick," she mutters, and Rick can't exactly argue that. She drives another nail into the wall with a loud **_pop_** of compressed air.

"You should be wearing safety gear," he says, frowning, and she waves the gun around.

"It's safe," she says, "it's perfectly safe-" and by the time she's started saying safe a second time she's accidentally knocked the gun into the shelf she's attaching, sending a nail into her other forearm. Rick is at her side in a second, the nailgun powered down, her arm bleeding in his hands.

"It hurts worse than it looks," she hisses, her face pale. "Don't say you told me so."

"I would never," he sighs, wincing as he pulls a syringe out of his pocket- on of the instant medic needles that some of the Ricks use, something he's never been without ever since he started having to care for a child- and wiping some of the blood away. "Bea, can you get that nail out of your arm?"

"Gross," she wheezes, plucking it out with shaking fingers, dropping the slick little spike on the carpeting. He injects her wound before it can get any bloodier, and the skin knits itself back together. He cleans it with a frown, rubbing his thumb over the new scar.

"Sorry," he sighs, pecking a tiny smooch on the half-circle scarred into her flesh.

"Makes me look more interesting," she says weakly, before glancing around. "Help me clean the blood up before Tisha gets back in here, Ricky."

"Your ten minutes are up," the girl says, and buries a knife in her forearm.

Sometimes the universe likes things to match. All versions of her have the same little scar, same place, always because she was careless when dealing with a child.

Rick and Morty leave Bea and Tisha to it. They still have twice-weekly dinners, they still play board games, they still do the things they've always done, but now Rick has to call ahead to get Bea to turn off her perimeter so he can portal in to her living room with Morty in tow. Snoopy lives with Bea and Tish now; it's for the best, honestly. Tisha opens up to Morty a little more, acting more like cousins or siblings than virtual-stranger alternate universe clones of each other. Bea starts teaching Tish self-defense; she offers Morty lessons, but he, for whatever reason, declines.

Bea teaches Tisha how to fix a broken portal gun, how to build a new one if they're ever separated. Rick's already taught Morty; it's easier than it was to teach her, all those years ago. She teaches Morty and Tisha how to set a break and bandage a gash and check for a head wound and stitch up a cut, just in case they ever get stuck in a bad situation without an instant medic. He teaches the kids to drive compact cars and his spaceship, because Bea doesn't like doing either, but judging by her reaction when she finds out he elects not to take them out driving again until they're old enough to have learner's permits. She teaches Tisha how to speak basic sentences in a dozen languages, obtains a wrist-mounted universal translator and builds Tisha a smaller one, makes sure that Tisha has an understanding of most Earth economies and a handful of the most prevalent economies that span the universe and the multiverse beyond. She wants them to be prepared, in case they end up without her and Rick.

The four of them meet Softee Rick for lunch in the Citadel; it's a funny, kind of cheesy family-style restaurant set up by one of the Pineses who doesn't have a home to go back to. The kids don't object to sitting at a Morty Table, the pair of them talking animatedly and drawing fond smiles from the various entities around them- maybe only a third of them Ricks, some of them with Beths and Jerries, a confusing number of them Pineses of varying age and description, a handful of young people who look like they could be a Pines but with a definite Sanchez flair, a handful of young people who look like they could be a Sanchez but with the distinctive Pinesean nose and jaw.

"Your kids are great," Softee Rick says, stirring the straw in his coke. "What are you two up to lately?"

"The usual," Rick and Bea say together, chuckling and elbowing one another when they realize it. Softee's smile goes tight. Rick remembers too late that he's one of the ones who never found out what happened to his sister.

"How's the family?" Bea asks, and Softee huffs and goes into a lengthy little rant- Beth's a sweetheart and a genius but she's wasted on horse surgery and Jerry, Jerry's (grudgingly) an okay person, average but spineless, Summer's a mystery by dint of being in some sort of (what he assumes to be a) common girlhood stage, and Morty-

"-he, uh," Softee says slowly, eyes glazing over as he stares down at his penne alfredo. "He reminds me of you, a little bit."

It takes Rick a few seconds to realize he's talking to Bea. He glances over; her brow is furrowed slightly, before she realizes what he means.

"All Morties are a little bit like me," she says finally, and he nods briskly. Rick knows what he looks like when he doesn't want to say something.

"Both of the kids remind me of you," he says thickly. "All the time. B-but, ah, Morty- he reminds me a _lot_ of you at that age. The- the you I had, she..." Softee gives Bea a look that is heavy with longing and regret, before he schools his face into impassive nonchalance. "Maybe he ought to meet you."

"Oh?" she asks, and he nods, stabbing pasta onto his fork.

"He found out about you on his own. My little research assistant," he says quietly. "Beth... Beth doesn't remember you, not really, and I don't, um, I haven't..."

Bea laces her fingers with Rick's, their hands resting on the sparkly red pleather bench seat.

"You didn't want to talk about her to the kids because she wasn't around anymore," Bea says slowly. "Because you didn't... want them to ask why she's not around anymore."

"I-It's like you know me," he mutters dryly.

"Well," she says warmly, chuckling low in her throat. "I mean!"

"Yeah," he huffs.

"I-" Rick says slowly, poking at his mashed potatoes. "R-Rick, I hate to ask, but when- when you found out, uh, that she was... gone. Did you use a gene scanner?"

"Of _course_ ," Softee says witheringly. "She wasn't- there wasn't enough left of her-"

"You remember Breakdancer Rick?" he asks, and Softee winces and nods. "His Bea'd been cremated and scattered, and he'd found traces."

"Yugh," Bea complains, putting her spoon down. "I can't eat chili if you're talking about this, bros."

"You would have found her if she'd died," Rick says. "So maybe... maybe she's not dead. Maybe she's just... out hopping."

"She always wanted to go with me," Softee says, shoving pasta into his mouth.  "She always- I told her she had to be older, it wasn't s-safe."

"I know a Rick who has a multiverse scanner," Bea says slowly. "You put it on and you can find all the alternate universe versions of yourself. You can't- you can't affect anything, but you can _see_..."

Her offer hangs in the air, and Softee's face betrays the torrent of conflicting emotion before he gives a quick, grateful nod. Rick has his doubts, but he's not going to voice them here. He doesn't want to hurt Softee any more than he has to.

"Hey, Grandpa, can we get dessert?" Morty asks, edging up to their table.

"Sure, kiddo," Rick and Softee say in unison, and Softee hunches his shoulders and grumbles at his plate.

She hides her limp as much as possible, walking into a bar full of mercenaries and bounty hunters.

"I'm looking for someone who knows how to kill a god," she says, dropping a precious stone the size of her fist on a table.

The god-killer looks up, stands, and takes her by the shoulder.

 The next time Rick and Morty come over for dinner, there's another little boy standing shyly next to Bea and Tisha.

"Mort's grandpa had, um, a bad experience with a hivemind," Bea says gently, ruffling her nephew's hair. "The MDC said we could let him stay with us for now, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Standing in his sister's house, with it's five identical butter-yellow bedrooms and a defense system he helped install and her perimeter impenetrable by any Rick she doesn't _invite_ through, Rick begins to realize what exactly it is Bea wants to do with her life.

He gives her a smile; she grins back.


End file.
